


Freiheit (Freedom)

by Lissy (Alicia_H)



Series: Writerverse [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, POV Female Character, Pilots, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-07
Updated: 2012-04-07
Packaged: 2017-11-03 05:55:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/378044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alicia_H/pseuds/Lissy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The day the flyer escapes, the sky must be a perfect blue. There should be no clouds. Not even those with silver linings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Freiheit (Freedom)

**Author's Note:**

> Response for challenge 6 at writerverse. Quick Fic prompt: Silver lining.

I despise anybody who trots out the old saying that every cloud has a silver lining. They do not understand that to us any cloud signifies a lost day of flying. I know people who often comment on the beauty of clouds, particularly when they are fretted with silver, gold or red. What I see when I look into the sky is a warning for oncoming storms or else a vast and impenetrable sheet of grey. Then I would inevitably return to my book with it's complicated diagrams or else lug another can of oil in the direction of the hangar as I readied myself for taking apart the engine for the sake of practising putting it together again. I think now I initially threw myself into those countless hours of grease and sweat, and constant patronisation, for the sake of never wasting another day away from the planes.

When I moved here to marry him, I expect I was imagining an endless string of sunny days. Clearly I'd hoped that we would be far enough from the mainland to escape the irksome mercurial weather that is the bane of British flyers. We have had such runs of cloudless days. The one I remember most vividly was the week the invaders landed.

I wonder at the tales of heroism I overhear from their flyers as I flit between mechanics and engineers, playing the island floozy for the sake of a few nuts and bolts and being able to watch them work. I must always remind myself not to respond to the men unless they address me in English, even as I listen to one crew telling another how they decimated the factories in my home town.

Con is on hand to extract me if I get too crowded by airmen coming to gawk at the girl with streaks of grease on her dress. The others appear to treat him with far more respect than his rank and age would demand. I know it is because they are wary of his father and stepbrother. They ought to be wary of me as well, though I'll take care to ensure they never realise that. I will let them assume we are lovers for I know that will allow me to continue haunting the airport like a harmless ghost.

It's strange how little I mind them thinking that. I could never see Con in that way, though he has the same eyes that first drew me to his father. They are the colour of the sky on the perfect day for flying. In Con's eyes I see that he is constantly sizing up and evaluating everyone and everything he encounters. In those eyes I try to read what he thinks of me, if I am still the potential stepmother he wants to worship or if I'm the woman who will callously abandon them all when my plane is finally fixed.

Con is a fool to help me. He must know that, when our situations are reversed, I cannot help him.


End file.
